


Stargazing and its Discontents

by henchmin



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henchmin/pseuds/henchmin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A child’s world is a fragile place and they will do anything to keep it standing. Or: Rivaille gives some ill-advised promises he doesn’t mean and Eren holds him accountable anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stargazing and its Discontents

The time is around one in the morning when we find Rivaille seated in the subway, leafing through a company brochure that bores him like nothing else. He can’t fathom why anyone would bother to read through the whole thing, so the company doesn’t have to worry about typos and literary criticisms. He can just blow off the whole thing and claim he found nothing else wrong further in, both boosting the writer’s self-esteem and keeping Rivaille’s wallet full while avoiding dulling his mind with tactless descriptions of stars and where to find them. Brilliant plan really. Except.

“I want to see the stars!” a shrill voice announces with childish indignation. The exclamation sends Rivaille scooting further away from the pair of mother and son seated beside him. Subtle enough that the kid can’t pick up on it, but obvious enough that it shows just how willing he is to help the harried woman who keeps looking to him.

“I know, Eren,” the woman admonishes, “but quiet down right now. You’re bothering the other people here.” In his peripheral vision he sees the woman brushing the boy’s hair back fondly. The boy, Eren, only scowls.

“There’s no one here,” Eren says, pauses. “Except for that guy over there, but I think he’s deaf.” Seeing as how the only people occupying the space is the lovely pair and Rivaille, there’s no question to who’s he referring to.

It’s one in the morning and Rivaille’s annoyed as fuck. He doesn’t want to read anymore gibberish about astronomical mysteries, but if he sets down the reading material he risks striking up conversation with the annoying brat. He had only managed to thwart him so far by playing handicapped. It’s not the proudest thing he’s ever done. But it’s (as Rivaille likes to emphasize) one in the morning, he hasn’t had a decent shower in two days (and judging from that stench, neither have they), the seats are disgusting all by themselves, and it’s one in the morning.

Rivaille does not have the effort nor the tolerance to deal with hyperactive kids and their doting mothers at the moment, preferably never. What he can use right now is a rich decent cup of coffee and an imperceptible silence, preferably forever. He straightens the brochure with a loll of his wrist just as the boy starts up again.

“Father promised he’d come see the stars with us soon,” Eren says, “but all he ever does is work work work.”

“Eren,” the woman says softly, a deep rooted pity in her tone that only children can produce. “He’s saving lives. We can’t be selfish.”

The boy fidgets with his hands, wringing them in his mother’s skirt just to find something for them to do. “But we came all the way over there to see him, and it’s late, and he promised.”

“He’s saving lives,” the woman repeats, carding her fingers through the boy’s hair in a comforting manner. Frustration and pain creases Eren’s face into something pitiful as he looks down at his fingers, like they have wronged him.

“Then,” Eren says, and the words are strangled in his throat painfully, “why can’t he save ours?”

And in those words lies a child’s heart, lay open and bare for the world to dry and mold to something strictly adult, strictly dull; reality. A child’s world is a dim fragile place, easily shattered, easily broken in. They all wilt in the end, this childish naivete, but it’s one in the morning and Rivaille will not bare witness to its end. A horrible start to a day really.

Eren starts in shock and fear when Rivaille settles beside him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. The boy is so lost in his own world. The man flattens the brochure on the boy’s lap under his mother’s careful appraisal.

“These,” Rivaille explains, “are the stars you’re crazy about.” Eren blinks at him stupidly, picks up the brochure and flips through.

“These aren’t stars,” Eren says, turning the brochure over as if there’s anything hiding underneath, “they’re a bunch of words.”

“It’s about all the stars, I think,” the woman interjects and Rivaille nods.

The boy stills, almost appearing contemplative, before he snaps up with a glare. “I can’t read, idiot!” Throws the brochure in Rivaille’s face. To his credit, the man doesn’t dodge, lets the papers slap against his face. He peels the brochure off as he watches the mother scold Eren, face flushed in embarrassment. The kid almost looks apologetic, though not to Rivaille, rather he feels sorry he caused his mother so much distress.

Mama’s boy, huh.

“It’s fine,” Rivaille says, just to hear the hum of silence, “I thought he was a little older than he was.”

Eren huffs, crosses his arms as he leans into his mother’s embrace. The woman gives a warm fond smile, brushes her fingers through his hair again.

“His father is away a lot,” she explains, “so he thinks he has to grow up fast to protect the family. Silly boy, isn’t he?” At this point Eren has buried his face in her stomach in embarrassment. Rivaille stares at the action for a moment, looks away.

“No,” he says, “it’s fine.” He doesn’t elaborate but the boy shifts a little, like a hermit breaking out of its shell. His cheeks are flushed red from earlier. Rivaille can hear another tantrum coming, another ‘you can’t possibly understand!’ issued.

“I’ll take you to see the stars, brat,” Rivaille says, just to keep the blissful muteness, “in the indefinite future.” Preferably never.

“If you haven’t seen it by then,” he adds for good measure. The boy straightens in real interest, scrutinizes him.

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” Rivaille drawls, bored.

“Fine,” Eren spits out, hearing Rivaille curt tone, but softens when he remembers what it means. The boy looks down, fidgeting with his fingers before glancing at the brochure resting in Rivaille’s lap. He snatches it up quickly, holding it up to his face to avoid catching Rivaille’s eyes. Rivaille blinks and the woman smiles again, making a shush movement with her finger.

Rivaille turns away. After a few minutes of useless page flipping the boy speaks up.

“Can I keep this?”

Rivaille twists to stare at the boy who still refuses to meet his eyes, glaring furiously down at the brochure. Oh well, he has tons of unwanted copies at home anyways.

“Do whatever you want.” Eren’s eyes widen and he finally looks up. The man is already turned away, pulling out his cellphone to dismiss whatever conversation Eren might have attempted. Eren turns back to his mother, says nothing as he buries into her side again. It’s a childish habit that he’s tried to break several times, but failed. Well, it’s alright, the boy thinks as he can feel familiar fingers carding through his hair and the warmth of his mother burning beside him. He is a child after all, he’s allowed to be childish. For now.

The boy’s fingers tighten around the stupid book with stupid words given by the stupid not-deaf man. He’s not going to return home and attempt to read it, or even approach the alphabet with more enthusiasm than he usually does (that is to say, none).

But he glances back to the man every once and a while throughout the trip home and when his mother laughs and taps the brochure with an ‘is this your favorite book now?’, he says no immediately.

It’s not a picture book nor an interesting story that his mother tells and he indulges in (very rarely, he assures you).

It’s a promise.

-

It is many years later when we find Rivaille in a very different subway in a very different city. The subway is full enough that Rivaille is forced to awkwardly situate himself near the doors, to the close side, to avoid immediate contact. It leaves him standing, but it also leaves him from touching strangers and whatever they decided to touch that day. The terrors.

He hears some scuttling from behind him, like someone is forcing their way to the front and presses his back against the wall to let them through.

He hears a handful of ‘excuse me’, ‘no, I didn’t mean to touch that’, and the like before the person (a teenaged boy, dark hair and bright eyes, stupid looking) stumbles through. There is a small space to weave through in front of Rivaille and the boy moves for it. A risky maneuver, since a rather big crowd is standing in front of Rivaille, and if he slips it’ll crush all of them both for sure.

“Sorry,” the boy mumbles as he turns to the side, face a hair’s breadth from Rivaille’s as he squeezes through. Rivaille says nothing and endures it, but the boy stills out of nowhere, eyes wide and intent on his own. Rivaille understands there must be some deeper significance that he should be informed about but all he can focus on is that horrible morning’s breath emanating from behind the boy.

“You’re,” the boy breathes, “you’re him.” Rivaille regards Eren with a solemn air. He doesn’t remember any teenagers in his recent memory.

“You don’t remember, do you. That’s fine, I guess you wouldn’t. But-”

“Sorry,” Rivaille interrupts curtly, “wrong person.” The subway rattles to a stop and Rivaille slips away easily, easing through the open doors before he can get trampled by the masses. He hears the boy’s protests dying out from behind him.

“Wait! It’s me, Eren!”

Rivaille doesn’t remember until he’s out of the station but when he does, he only walks faster.

-

He doesn’t notice the boy loitering outside the office building until it’s too late. He’s still a few meters away but the brat would surely notice someone whipping around to another direction without a visual explanation. Rivaille swallows his sigh, and adopts a nonchalant air as he walks past. Maybe he was too casual, the man realizes when Eren shoots up from his resting position.

“Wait, Rivaille,” the boy starts, flinches when Rivaille shoots him an annoyed look.

“It’s on your card,” Eren says, holding the dirty object up for explanation. He must have dropped it. So the boy hadn’t followed him around. Rivaille swallows the accusations on his tongue/

“So you remember now, right? I can tell by your avoidance.”

“You should also tell that I am avoiding you for a reason,” Rivaille retorts, “and you should respect your elder’s wishes, boy.”

Eren face folds into a frown, some regret stitched in the dip of his lips. He cards his fingers through his hair in frustration, looking away.

“Look, I know I’m annoying you,” Eren says. “I didn’t even know you moved here, but. It’s stupid, nevermind.” Rivaille is curious, but not curious enough to stress the issue and starts to leave with a short nod.

“Take me to see the stars,” Eren blurts out to his back. Rivaille falters. “You promised.”

Rivaille stays silent, just to make sure he heard the words right.

“That was to shut you up,” Rivaille emphasizes. Eren insists that it doesn’t matter. What infallible logic. He finally turns around. Eren is standing too close to be anything good.

“I won’t bother you ever again.”

Rivaille takes the statement into consideration before snapping, “Grow up.” It’s in the boy’s best interests. The older man doesn’t expect a fist to snag onto his tie, pulling him forward.

“No,” Eren says firmly, fingers tightening on his tacky tie and Rivaille narrows his eyes. “You don’t get to break promises.”

Rivaille stares at the snarl in Eren’s lips, the mussed hair, and comes to an understanding slowly. It is not a happy one.

“What happened to your mother?” Rivaille asks carefully, and it is the right question because Eren releases him like the very touch burns. Rivaille fixes his tie and hazards the father is in the same state as his mother.

“Forget it,” Eren bites out. “I already skipped out on enough classes for you.” Despite the unsteady voice the boy lopes away, face pinched. Rivaille doesn’t look after him, instead beginning his trek back to the station. The man remembers warm fond smiles in a vague recollection, and an ill-advised promise.

It’s nothing. Just something he had offered as a means for the boy to pour his childish hopes into. So his world would not be broken in such an undesirable fashion. (Everyone knows reality is best approached gradually, like welcoming a stranger into one’s life until the stranger is anything but).

The promise is not a lie. You have to care (about what is debatable but nonetheless) to lie.

The promise is a time capsule at best, and at truth: nothing at all.

-

It is September when we next find our characters, bundled up in their winter cheerfulness. That is to say, layered in thick clothes and stingy from the cold. In Rivaille’s case, he is growing more agitated and sullen as his ‘companion’ ignores his wishes for him to go the fuck away. In Eren’s case, he is growing more annoyed at Rivaille’s adamant refusals to please grow a heart and go with him up the mountains.

“It’ll take a day at the most,” Eren says, walking backwards in front of the older man. “The city’s pollution doesn’t reach there.”

“I’m not your friend,” Rivaille retorts, “go find them.” He feels oddly warm when the boy stumbles into someone, works around the jumbled mess of limbs. Eren catches up to him quickly, face flushed in exertion.

“That’s the point,” Eren says, “we’re not friends. All you need to do is take me to see the stars. Then we’re done.”

“I have work.”

“I have school, and it’s break. One day.”

“You said forget it just a few months ago,” Rivaille snaps, “I swear, I’m trying.” The man remembers the strange guilt that curled around his stomach that night, but he had brushed it off the next day. It wasn’t his concern, and the boy needed to grow up. He had stepped outside his apartment complex, all refreshed and guilt-free, to find the boy waiting outside. His facial expression switched so fast he swore he could still feel the pain.

“Card,” Eren had explained, waving the offensive thing. Ah, right. He is an editor, so he works partially from home as well.

“Get lost,” he remembered saying. The boy had grown dejected but he still stuck close to his side, insisting on inane promises. Rivaille had been annoyed as fuck.

Which brings him back to the present moment where Eren has pushed a warm cup of coffee into his hands out of nowhere, smiling and saying it’s his treat. Unfortunately, Rivaille has been blessed with the boy’s presence so much that the boy had both grown accustomed to his beverage preferences. The boy has awful taste, no doubt about it.

“Anyways,” Eren says, pushing down his scarf to inhale his hot coffee. How it doesn’t burn Eren’s throat and prevent him from speaking any further, Rivaille can’t understand. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“I say stupid things when I’m angry. So you can’t forget it, because that’d be stupid.”

“I am intimidated by such eloquence,” Rivaille admits sarcastically, holding the cup in his hands to let the warmth bleed through his stiff cold fingers. Eren hums, wipes his mouth and dumps the empty cup into a passing trashcan as they continue walking.

“As long as you understand, why worry about things like that?”

Rivaille scoffs, because his career relies on being nitpicky about language, to dissect and rummage through unnecessary and cluttered words, to find something wrong in a paragraph that sounds right. Or a spellchecker, as Eren likes to stupidly reference.

“Everything,” Rivaille says without looking to the boy beside him, bringing the ceramic cup up for a sip. He isn’t looking to see the boy blink at him repeatedly, a sly grin creasing his face.

“It’s fun to see you get worked up over something,” Eren says and Rivaille doesn’t refute the fact, despite him saying one little word to defend language. Their footsteps dull to a stop as they arrive at the office building.

“Still a no?” Eren asks as he turns to Rivaille. The man doesn’t have to say anything as he continues to the doors, reaching over to the passing trashcan to dump the now cool cup. A hand snakes out to grab it before it falls in.

“Hey, I paid a lot of money for this,” Eren protests, “if you won’t finish it, I will.” Oh, right. The brat is going through college without working parents, nor any relatives (from what Rivaille could gather). He forgets. The way Eren carries himself at times, it throws Rivaille off. Where did Eren work, anyways.

Eren finds the lip stain that Rivaille has left from before, brings the cup up to inhale the drink as he always does. He stills in the process, frozen, then calmly brings the cup down and bends over the trashcan to spill out his mouth’s contents.

“What do you put in this?” Eren coughs as he straightens, wiping at his mouth furiously.

“You ordered it.”

“Yeah, stupid question,” Eren concedes. The boy finally looks up to see Rivaille’s eyes fixed intently on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Rivaille says, returning his attention to the building. The word is said curtly, but Eren swears there’s something else buried in it. Ah, well. It doesn’t really matter now. The boy stretches, arching his back with his arms outstretched, looks up at the streaks of fluffy clouds among the blue.

Cards his fingers through his hair, just to remember the feeling.

-

It doesn’t have to be Rivaille. They both know this. It could have been anyone who offered something. An encouraging promise, a few helpful words, and it would have sunk in the child’s heart just that fast. It’s better if it’s not Rivaille. They both know this. But Eren doesn’t have much options.

The boy lies in his cramped dorm room, skipping another night of some measurable fun to linger in bed. He fishes the crumpled brochure out under his bed, attempts to leaf through it. Several seconds later it smacks against the wall. Still boring as ever.

Eren turns on his side, sighs. He’s not a child anymore, he knows this better than anyone else. That’s why he’s doing this. His parents are already gone, he just needs this. It’s not too much to ask, really. To be able to tuck away this childish world for good, this lingering feeling that warms at the sight of Rivaille, of a promise exchanged between two children, of stars. It is less about stars, and more on what they symbolize. Eren doesn’t even know why he was (is) fascinated with them.

Eren closes his eyes, can almost feel his mother’s warmth cradled next to him, the rattle of a subway beneath his seat, and the stupid not-deaf man sitting a few paces away. Eren closes his eyes and remembers promises. Father didn’t keep his, did he. He lost the chance, and Eren isn’t going to allow the same thing to happen twice. He needs this for closure.

For closure and for (a promise) nothing at all.

-

In January Eren can feel Rivaille’s resolve breaking. Or so he tells himself. It is routine to meet up with the man, even go out for lunch sometimes. His break is over but he still finds the time to hang out or stalk, as Rivaille likes to put it. And if their minutes are eaten less and less by words of promises and stargazing, well that’s part of the plan, he assures you, certainly.

The sky is raining, leaving Eren is a most pitied drenched state as he pads back to the dorm. He can’t waste money on a cab and he always forgets an umbrella. His track back leads him to Rivaille’s workplace, as most of his routes now do. He just passes by, he knows the man isn’t there. He had checked his apartment too. Of course the man has a social life outside of work and Eren. Eren remembers when he did too.

If the guy just accepted, Eren thinks hotly, he wouldn’t be in this situation right now. He pulls his hood down further as he passes the building, fingers biting numb from the cold.

“Eren.”

Eren stills at Rivaille’s voice, turning to stare. Rivaille is standing under the weight of an umbrella, looking at him. There are big words tacked on the side of the umbrella and Eren raises an eyebrow.

“Company issued,” Rivaille says.

“Looks really stupid,” Eren comments and Rivaille scoffs. Of course, the man doesn’t have to worry about appearances. He certainly isn’t unattractive.

“A bad day to get good on that promise,” Eren says and Rivaille ignores it, asks him where he’s going.

“The dorm.” Rivaille takes the statement into careful consideration before offering an idle comment about how his place is much closer. Eren blinks, because duh the boy knows where he lives, he’s been there enough it’s become a second home.

“Is that an invitation?” Eren asks after a contemplative pause. Rivaille says nothing as he starts moving again, but he doesn’t say anything when Eren ducks his head under the umbrella either. He does kick out Eren’s legs when the boy makes a snide comment about the height of the umbrella and how it’s too short for him.

But he lets Eren hold it anyways.

-

When Eren steps outside of the restroom, refreshed and clad in Rivaille’s old spare clothes, the older man is waiting outside, arms crossed. He takes the bag of Eren’s wet clothes and disappears somewhere else, leaving Eren standing in the living room. The boy shrugs, dries off his hair halfheartedly with the towel wrapped around his shoulders, and turns on the television.

By the time Rivaille returns, Eren has made himself comfortable, lying on the couch and tuning the channels.

“You better not have done anything weird in the shower,” Rivaille throws over his shoulder as he moves to the bathroom. Well, the boy had only used about half of the shampoo bottle but that didn’t really count as weird. Eren can hear the shower head turn on from the bathroom, and feels oddly warm. Trusting Eren not to jerk off in the bathroom and avoid his horny teenager adolescence, well that’s only the best kind of trust.

-

“How do you have abs?”

Rivaille ignores the question as he pulls on his shirt, throws the used towels in the dirty hamper. Eren is scrutinizing him with an incredulous expression from his place on the couch and huffs in annoyance when he is continuously ignored. Rivaille settles in front of the sofa, grabbing the remote and changing the channel.

Eren stares at the back of Rivaille’s head and wonders where he finds the time to work out. It’s not like his job is physically demanding or something. Might get a few paper cuts here and there, which are the worst, but that’s all Eren can think of. The boy sighs and turns his attention to the ceiling. He stays like that for quite some time, the sound of some inane talk show buzzing in the background and falls asleep.

He wakes up to fingers carding through his hair. They’re too short and too stiff and too cold to be anything akin to hers, but they’re familiar.

Eren smacks Rivaille’s fingers away, bites out, “Don’t.”

The older man hums lightly, twists back to watch the television, and murmurs, “Don’t fall asleep here, idiot.” Eren almost curses at him, running his hands through his own hair to forget the feeling. He stills eventually, glaring at the back of Rivaille’s head. His face softens a fraction later.

If Rivaille does say yes, it’d be goodbye wouldn’t it? They have no connection after it, no reason to meet and stay together. That’s the whole argument Eren has on his side, something he emphasizes so Rivaille would say yes. Is that why the man won’t agree?

But no, that’s a little cocky on Eren’s part. Just cause the man had been a little touchy feely there, and had actually invited him over for once (it’s because it’s pouring outside, nothing else, right?), and Eren doesn’t mention the promise every second of every minute, doesn’t mean the older man holds any strange unhealthy infatuation with Eren. Right? Right, of course.

Except.

Abruptly, Eren reaches over, grasping Rivaille’s chin and tilting it upwards to face him. Eren presses his lips against his sloppily, amateurish. The older man pushes him away a few seconds later. But a few seconds too late.

“You’re gay, aren’t you?” Eren asks, and it shapes like an accusation without him meaning to. Rivaille regards him carefully.

“Something like that. What of it?” the man replies, too casual and something like condescension wrapped in his tongue. Eren’s eyes widen at the verbal confirmation.

“Nothing,” Eren says, because it doesn’t matter really, as long as it doesn’t affect him. Except it does. Eren is overly cautious of Rivaille’s actions now, his eyes, and his past actions. Swallows.

“You’re not my type,” Rivaille assures him, and the statement stings. Eren forces out a scoff, looks away.

“I don’t care about that,” Eren lies, crosses his arms. Rivaille lets the silence linger a few more seconds before speaking up.

“I have a day off tomorrow,” Rivaille says, “I can take you then.” It takes a while for Eren to grasp the words, the meaning, and when he does he shoots up. Mutters about him having exams soon and how he needs to get home, thanks for the clothes, he’ll be sure to return them soon. Almost jumps out the door.

It’s not raining anymore and Eren makes it back to the dorm without trouble. His lips burn.

-

Eren doesn’t come to visit. The next day. Or the next. He’s not lying about the exams, and he loses his thoughts in studying so he doesn’t lose his thoughts in something else instead. They had never exchanged cell numbers, so Rivaille doesn’t call.

A part of him feels relieved. The rest feels nothing at all.

It’s not like Eren finds homosexuality abhorrent. Nothing of the sort. He’s pretty sure the dorm room next door has a few gay members. It’s nothing new. Really.

But his lips still burn when he thinks about stars and promises, and he returns to his studies with more enthusiasm than they were worth.

Thinks of nothing at all.

-

When Rivaille steps outside his apartment complex and finds Eren waiting, he stills. The scene is familiar but the time is not. It’s been months.

“Thought you disappeared,” Rivaille says and Eren looks away. It’s not an accusation, but the boy feels at fault (for what is debatable but nonetheless) anyways.

“There were exams,” Eren explains lamely, and it’s not a lie. The older man checks his watch.

“It’s not the best time to make good on that promise,” Rivaille echoes, and Eren frowns.

“Are you just going to act like nothing happened?”

Rivaille sighs, and checks the time again. He really doesn’t have the time nor the effort to explain but he doesn’t leave.

“Tell me then, what’s your sexual preference?” Eren looks taken aback at the question, eyes flickering away.

“What does that matter,” the boy retorts, voice sharp, and Rivaille almost sighs in exasperation. There, you have your answer. He doesn’t say the words aloud, but lets it sink into the boy’s mind as he moves to leave. Except a hand snatches his arm to prevent him from doing so.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Eren is saying, “just. Don’t leave, okay? I’m just confused, that’s all.” Rivaille pulls his arm from Eren’s grasp. But he doesn’t leave and that’s enough.

Rivaille doesn’t leave and really, that’s all he’s ever needed.

-

This kiss is more practiced, more expert, but rejected just the same. Eren flinches back, frustrated and impatient.

“I don’t understand,” Eren says, “I’m not your type, but I can tell you like me. Why?” Why won’t you accept it?

“I will not be some pathetic item to pour your childish idealizations into,” Rivaille says, “I can encourage lust, you stupid brat, but I won’t encourage this unhealthy infatuation with the idea. I’m not going away because I can’t fuck you.”

“How would you know what I think?” Eren snaps back, and if his voice is strangled thin and pitiful, it’s just the weather.

“Because I’m not stupid,” Rivaille drawls, and continues after a contemplative silence, “and you were trembling.”

Eren stills at the evaluation, eyes wide. Rivaille sighs, stands up from the bench and walks away. Eren doesn’t stand up after him, only looks down and ignores the way his chest is heavy and the way his throat burns. He doesn’t notice Rivaille has returned (because they never ever do) until the man has pressed a warm cup of coffee into his fist.

“Drink,” Rivaille says, “you’re shaking.” Eren complies listlessly, not inhaling it with vigor as he usually does. Freezes.

“What?” Rivaille says, sipping at his own cup. The boy shakes his head quickly, doesn’t look over at the man sitting beside him. It’s sweet.

Just the way he likes it.

-

Sometimes, Eren wishes Rivaille was stupid, just for that time. Or at least pretend. Because he was right, so many days ago. But if he had just pretended, Eren would have grown, he swears.

He knows he already has. He knows it in the way his heart beats just a little quicker when Rivaille’s skin brushes against his casually, when his lips burn, but in a different way altogether. Rivaille’s noticed too.

The older man is studying him right now, eyes dark. Eren swallows, looks away and hopes he’s not too obvious.

“I have a sick day I can use,” Rivaille offers suddenly, stabbing a fry with his fork. Eren watches as the man pops it in his mouth cleanly, eyes flashing up to Eren’s at the attention. The boy clears his throat.

“Good for you,” Eren says and the older man looks exasperated.

“That means we can go up to the mountains for your damn stars,” Rivaille says, like Eren’s exceptionally slow. Eren nods along and stops when the words register.

A part of him is euphoric. But the rest thinks of good byes, no connections, and nothing at all.

-

“Did you go out and buy a telescope?” Rivaille prompts, eyes focused on the bulging bag on Eren’s shoulder.

“From a long time ago,” Eren answers, distracted and he doesn’t notice the other man narrow his eyes in annoyance. By the time he turns to Rivaille, the man is already in the car, offering no help whatsoever. What a prick.

-

“Winter’s the best time for stargazing, y’know,” Eren speaks up as he sets up camp, which is nothing but a thick blanket drawn up over the windshield and hood of the car. Rivaille is standing to the side, offering no help yet again. Although it’s Rivaille’s car, so he can’t complain.

“That’s why I told you in January,” Rivaille says and Eren shrugs.

By the time Eren is finished, night is already breaking across the sky. Eren can’t help but feel flustered and rushed. He’s been waiting for this moment for years, for closure. He sets up the telescope with careful fingers, shivering. It’s not winter, but it’s still imperiously cold in the mountains. He brushes off the dust collected among the years, and if the rest of the world blurs out of existence, Eren doesn’t think he’d notice.

He finishes his final touches, shrugs on a thicker jacket and a pair of gloves to battle the cold. Breathes into his hands for some thin warmth, and settles on the hood of the car with an accomplished feeling. Beside him Rivaille is browsing his phone. Must be playing a game or something.

Eren closes his eyes and inhales the fresh mountain air. He hears a soft click of a phone camera flash, snaps his eyes open in surprise. He turns to see Rivaille turning back, tapping his phone screen in a series of swipes and slides.

“You want to remember this, don’t you?” Rivaille asks, “I’ll send it to you later.”

“Yeah, but the picture of the stars would have been nicer.”

“They’re just stars,” Rivaille says, tucking the cell back in his pocket.

“They’ll be here later.” Eren frowns because that means Eren won’t be here later. And he knows after this is goodbye but he doesn’t want to think about that mood killer.

“You don’t have my number,” Eren says instead, lying back down.

“If I went through all this shit and you’re not passing me your cell,” Rivaille retorts, “you can find another ride back.” Eren feels a strange elation curling around his stomach and climbing up his throat.

“Yeah,” Eren replies weakly. Rivaille doesn’t reply.

And they wait.

-

Eren thinks his long childish desire paints the stars a lot more beauty than is usually called for, but he swears it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. The river of stars align among the darkness, and Eren doesn’t know what specific star he’s looking at, doesn’t even know if he’s looking at a specific constellation or not, but he’s content.

He wants to take a picture but he knows it won’t capture it correctly, will only stain this perfection. And he knows he’s being disgustingly poetic and sentimental but he swears if he stares long enough, he can feel warm fingers brushing through his hair again, the small contained feeling of exchanging a promise, and if it’s just the harsh wind playing with him, he doesn’t mind.

“Don’t you want to look too?” Eren says, after a while, leans back to stare at Rivaille. The man is lounging on the car, rummaging through Eren’s bag and plucking the brochure from its contents.

“You still have this?”

“Yeah,” Eren replies quickly, turns back to the telescope to save himself the embarrassment. He grows distracted by Rivaille’s obnoxious page flipping, finally turns around to snap and stops when he sees it. Rivaille is opened to a particular page full of doodles and crude drawings done by his younger self.

“I was a kid, okay,” Eren defends himself, climbing on the car to try to snatch it back. Rivaille pulls it away from his fingers easily.

“No,” Rivaille says, “it’s fine.” The words sound painfully like an echo and Eren stops his attempts, lies down on his back to look away.

“Are these supposed to be stars?” Rivaille queries and Eren turns around to snap again but the older is already flipping the page in interest. The boy watches him silently until the man is done, closing the crumpled pages shut.

“You know,” Eren says, “I’ve changed.” Rivaille slants him a strange look.

“Obviously,” is all Rivaille says.

“You haven’t, have you?” Eren asks, and the older man gives him a long calculative stare, like he’s measuring him up or something, before scoffing.

“You’re still a kid,” Rivaille says, looking up at the sky, “these things change faster than you think, brat. Hm. I won’t be surprised if you still draw like this-” Rivaille pauses when two hands slam down on either side of him.

“I’m not a kid,” Eren bites out, glaring down at Rivaille whose face is only a hair’s breadth from his own. After an awkward silence, the boy seems to remember his straddling position and a red tint stains the tip of his ears. The older man almost smirks and Eren frowns, stays where he is as his hands ball into fists.

“Don’t dent my car.”

“You don’t even use it.”

“Because I don’t want dents in my car,” Rivaille drawls, impatient, and lifts a hand to push Eren off.

Eren flattens to prevent Rivaille from doing so, blurts out, “Wait, wait. Okay, wait. Just give me a minute. I got it.” Rivaille sighs, and Eren feels his chest moving from the action, swallows nervously. He can feel Rivaille breathing against him.

Vaguely, he wonders if the man can feel Eren’s heartbeat. Best not think about it, it’ll only make him more nervous. Eren stares down at Rivaille’s lips, almost recoils when a tongue darts out to wet them. He feels a slight rumble from the hardened chest underneath him.

He’s teasing me, Eren realizes, mortified. Furious, he leans down to press his lips against Rivaille’s, but he remembers the sting of rejection, and cowardly diverts to kissing the man’s jaw clumsily. His face flushes red in embarrassment but Rivaille has stilled underneath him, waiting. He’s doing something right, then.

Eren continues his trail slowly, until he’s down to the collar bone and pauses, lips pressed against the curve. Rivaille’s jacket covers the rest of the way, and the boy doesn’t know if he should take it off because really, it’s cold as fuck, and maybe he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing whatsoever, and this body is very different from what he’s used to-

He stops thinking when hands grab his hips, force him on his back. Rivaille twists around expertly, slamming Eren’s hands onto the car. Well that’s definitely going to leave something.

“You’re slow,” is all Rivaille says, before tilting Eren’s face up to slam his lips against Eren’s greedily. Eren responds in kind, bucking up with his hips to try to turn the situation back around but Rivaille’s strong and impatient, doesn’t budge a muscle. He bites down on Eren’s bottom lip and Eren opens his mouth in response, lips burning.

It’s only when a cold hand brushes up under his shirt that Eren feels wrong. He shivers at the cold, leaning his head back to still the kiss but Rivaille only follows and Eren swallows again, wraps his arms around Rivaille’s neck to pull him down flush against him. The hand is climbing upwards, stopping where Eren’s heart lies.

Then it reaches for something else and Eren chokes. Rivaille pulls back, allowing Eren to catch his breath. The boy turns his face away, not willing to look the man in the face and Rivaille retracts his hand. Pulls Eren’s shirt and jacket back down. Eren’s trembling.

“Wait for it,” Rivaille tells him, smacking the brochure against Eren’s chest and rolling over onto his back. Eren coughs out a weak ‘alright’, fingers curling around the crumpled brochure tightly. After a few tense minutes, Eren finally turns to look at the damage done.

Except Rivaille doesn’t look disappointed, annoyed, unsatisfied, or any variation of it. Almost like the man had already expected it. So I was that obvious, huh. Did the guy even feel anything as he did that? Probably not.

“Hey,” Eren starts, clearing his throat awkwardly, “thanks. You know, for everything.”

“A number would be sufficient thanks,” Rivaille drawls, doesn’t turn to look at him. Eren stares dumbly for a few seconds before grinning.

“Yeah,” Eren replies, “yeah, you’re right. Later, then.” Rivaille hums lightly in reply. Eren ignores the euphoric feeling swelling in his throat, gets back up to return his attention to the telescope. So it’s not goodbye after this.

In the morning when the stars start to vanish, Eren returns to the hood of the car, pulling out another blanket to cover Rivaille who has fallen asleep. The boy stares at the stupid not-deaf man, and tries not to smile stupidly.

“I don’t care if I’m acting pathetic right now,” Eren says to the silent man, “but. Wait for me, yeah?” The man doesn’t answer but really, he never had to. Eren turns away to catch some last glimpses of the stars before falling asleep.

In his pocket, his phone vibrates with a new message. Beside him, Rivaille tucks his phone away yet again, looks up the light breaking across the sky.

Wait for me, yeah?

It’s a promise.


End file.
